Chicken and waffles.

Evidently, this is a popular breakfast item in the South. I had forgotten all about it until I saw it on the menu at Monarch, inside Hotel Zaza, one morning this week. Aislinn and I had spent the night at the establishment (fabulous) and were grabbing a quick bite on our way to the King Tut exhibit (also fabulous) at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston.

I have this chicken gag with some colleagues, so I snapped a photo of the menu and sent it along, giggling into my coffee. The next day, though, the words came back in a flash as I continued to lament my inability to let go of OWSE and just publish it already.

Chicken and waffles. That's me. I'm a chicken, and I waffle. In fact, it's my specialty. I waffle all the time right here; you've seen it. It's not that I can't make decisions, or even act on them. I do that stuff at work all the time (sometimes with really interesting consequences). But the writing thing, it's so personal. It is absolutely the most exposed I will ever be.

I told you recently that money--the cost of the ISBNs--was holding me back, but that was only partially true. I'm confident that I will cover the cost with book sales. No, the only thing holding me back is me.

Not anymore. Last night I spent five excruciating hours at my computer, figuring out how to get OWSE (and WHOSS) onto Kindle. And I did it.

Mostly.

I messed up something with WHOSS, so we're not ready to go live just yet. But tomorrow...oh, tomorrow. What a day that will be!

Stay tuned.